Reality
by Hime D
Summary: When Sumisawa decided to quit Bandai, he decided to pay to a visit to his inspiration. (FYI, Sumisawa is one of the guys who came out with the idea of GW)


Disclaimer: GW is not mine, Sumisawa-sensei is his own and this is only a FICTION! Flames will be used to keep me warm 'cause the damn wind is chilling me!   


* * *

Reality

* * *

_August 1997_

Sumisawa Katsuyuki slammed the front door closed. He stomped toward his room and when he managed to reach the room, he locked himself inside without any further word, leaving his wife wondering to herself of what was going on with her husband. 

Inside the room, Sumisawa was seething. He was angry, very very angry. He was very angry toward the people in his production that could only think about money, money, and money. They had been using his series way too commercial that it made him sick. Yes, he's quitting. He's going to quit. Now. 

After a few moments, he finally managed to calm himself down. He picked himself up from the floor when he had bee laying down trying to cool his head down and went out of the room. Giving a slight smile to his worried wife, he pat on her shoulder and went out the house again. "Itte kimasu," 1 he said. 

"Itte rasshai," 2 is all his wife could say. She watched as her husband walked on the street, heading toward the station. 

* * * * * * * 

Sumisawa stopped in front of a small flat in a slum area of Tokyo. He went upstairs and after a few doors, he stopped on the one with a small sticker written 'Go away' on. He took some breath in and out and knocked the door. 

After a few try, the door finally opened. Only a little though. One blue eye peered suspiciously from behind the door. As the owner of the eye recognized who it was, the door opened. 

Sumisawa entered the small room. It was a bit untidy. Cups of instant noodles could be seen on one corner under the washbasin and dirty clothes were dumped on the other corner. Another corner was occupied with a futon and blanket, while the rest looked cleared. 

There were only a few furniture in the room. One small closet and a small kotatsu 3. On the kotatsu, a battered laptop, several disks and other computer units took place, strewn around like somebody was working too hard with the computer that he didn't care any longer with the organization of the disks and other stuffs. 

"What do you want?" 

Sumisawa turned around. 

The boy was 17 years old, but he seemed to be a lot older. His face was one that was Japanese, but he had Prussian blue eyes and dark brown hair. He was wearing a black tanktop that could no longer be called black. His jeans were torn here and there, especially on the knees, but they were not torn intentionally. Some of them were new and Sumisawa knew that they were torn in fight when he spot the fresh bruise on the boy's temple. 

"You were fighting again," he said. 

"It's like I had had a choice," the boy spat. "They started first. I'd rather kill than be killed." 

"Did you kill them?" 

"No. I just put them in the hospital. Probably won't get out for a few months." 

The boy moved away from the door and sat in front of the computer, typing away furiously. After a few moments of silence, Sumisawa asked. "How're things doing?" 

"Fine," the boy said grimly. "Just a few fight here and there. Nothing to worry about." 

"Did you go to school?" 

"Once a while," he shrugged. "Didn't get anything much there. Besides, the teachers are jerks and the kids are worse." 

"Oh...." 

"Why are you here anyway? I thought you're the one who said that our contract is over." 

"Hiro'o." Sumisawa said, "I'm quitting." 

The boy called Hiro'o finally looked up from the monitor. "What?" 

"I'm quitting GW." 

The boy was silent for a while before he shrugged and went back to the monitor. Another silence filled with keyboard tapping went before he asked, "Why?" 

"They just don't get it," Sumisawa said. "They don't understand that it's not just about the money." 

"They don't know it was real," Hiro'o said. "Though I highly doubt that even if they knew we are real they'd understand." 

"They'd just make use of you five." 

"My point exactly." 

Silence engulfed them once again. Could stand of it no longer again, Sumisawa said, "You know, my wife wouldn't mind if you move in with us." 

"My mother will." 

"But Mathilda is dead." 

"You killed her." 

"Hiro'o...." 

Those blue eyes were blazing with repressed anger as they glared at him. That is, before they dimmed again and the sound of keyboard tapping was heard again. 

Sumisawa sighed in resignation. He had anticipated that. Years he had tried to get the boy to come with him, but.... 

He turned and walked to the door. "Maybe I'd better be going now," he said. 

Silence. 

Taking one last glance at the boy, he said, "You might as well tell the others." 

"Hn." 

"See you again." With that the man went out, closing the door behind him. 

After a few moment, the typing stopped. Without looking up from the monitor, Hiro'o whispered to himself. 

"Oyaji no baka." 4 

* * * * * * * 

The telephone rang three times before somebody picked it up. There were sounds of children laughing on the background when the person answered, "Hello?" 

"Max." 

"Hiro'o!" 

Hiro'o smiled. "How are you?" 

On the other side, Max was bouncing on his seat happily. "Fine! Never felt this good! God, how long has it been? Two years?" 

"Two years, three months, and seven days. How's Orange County?" 

The American boy grinned widely. "Pretty much the same! How's Tokyo?" 

"Boring." 

"Aww, ya know I wanna go there again." 

"Then come. It'll be a lot more interesting here if you're around." 

"Ha ha, knew you missed me. Too bad I have a home to take care of." 

Hiro'o sighed. "I thought you were going to give up that orphanage." 

"You know I can't do that." 

"You're seventeen already. It's time to have a life of your own." 

"Honestly, Hiro'o. You think I can leave Father Thomas and Sister Helen to take care of the kids without my help?" 

"...You are too kind, Max." 

The boy chuckled. "Not as kind as you, Hiro'o." 

Hiro'o was perplexed. "Since when am I kind?" 

Max chuckled again. "Well, I'm talking about a guy who beat the hell outta a bunch of gangster just help to an orphan who was frightened to death and his worthless friend who got his ass kicked." 

"Max, you're not worthless." 

"Well, I was. But I'm much stronger now!" The boy cackled. 

Hiro'o shook his head in exasperation. "You're still the same Max Walt I know." 

"The one and only!" 

Hiro'o snorted. 

"Say, Hiro'o," the boy changed the topic. "What makes you call out of the blue anyway? It's not like you to call somebody just to have a little chit chat." 

The half Japanese was quiet. 

"Hello? Earth calling Heero Yuy. Come in Heero Yuy." 

"...Max." 

"Yeah?" 

"I'm no longer Heero Yuy." 

"Huh?" 

"You're no longer Duo Maxwell. Igor is no longer Trowa Barton, Bassem is no longer Quatre Winner, and Fei is no longer Chang Wufei." 

"...Your old man quitted, didn't he?" 

"...Hai." 

To Hiro'o's surprise, the American boy laughed. 

"...Max?" The Japanese boy called warily. Had his friend gone out of his mind? 

"I'm glad, Hiro'o." 

"Why?" 

"Then we can be ourselves again!" 

"What do you mean?" 

"Aww, come on. Don't tell me you never feel it? You're becoming more and more like Heero Yuy, you know?" 

"I am, was, Heero Yuy." 

"No, you're not. You are Sumisawa Hiro'o, the one and only. Heero is you, not the way around. I am Max Walt, Duo Maxwell is Max Walt, but not the way around. Understand me?" 

"...No." 

Max sighed in exasperation. "Look. You are what you are. You are not the person somebody make for you. You can make a person out of you. But no matter what, that person can only be a part of you and not the way around. So Heero Yuy was a part of Sumisawa Hiro'o, but not the whole person. Understand?" 

"...I hate it when you talk in riddles." 

Max rolled his eyes. "I'm not talking in riddles. Remember the set and function theory in math?" 

"Uhuh...." Hiro'o pondered for a while and finally realization dawned on him. "Oh...." 

"You got it." 

"I understand what you're trying to say." 

"Now that's a good boy." 

Suddenly somebody was speaking behind Max. After Max replied to the person, he turned his attention back to his friend. 

"Hiro'o, thank you for calling, okay. But mind if you call again tonight or tomorrow? Father Thomas wants me to take the kids to the park." 

"All right." But before the other party hang up the phone, he quickly called. "Max?" 

"What?" 

"Can I ask you something?" 

"Yeah?" 

"What do you think of me?" 

Max chuckled. "You? Well, a guy who's crazy but smart enough to break into Pentagon's database three times without letting them know, an evil knevil who never drive below 100 kmph in the city, let alone on the highway. A maniac who can do karate, judo, kungfu, taekwondo, everything you name it, and still want to learn more, a jerk who almost never attended classes but got A in almost every classes, and the only reason you didn't get A plus was because of you attendance rate," and his voice became much softer as he added, "and a child who is cold and craving for warmth." 

"...Thank you, Max." 

"Anytime, Hiro'o." 

Tuuuuut tuuuuuuut tuuuuuuuut.... 

"Anytime...." 

Max smiled as he hang up the telephone. He arranged his legs to where they should be. They really liked to moved out from their position whenever he was excited. What could he say, not everyday Hiro'o would call him. He didn't particularly care if they're going to hit the wheels anyway, it's not like he could feel the pain anymore. 

Sighing happily, he turned his wheelchair around and called the kids. 

"Come on, boys. It's time to play."   


* * *

End of Reality 

* * *

[1] Itte kimasu   
[2] Itte rasshai   
[3] Kotatsu = Low table with heater inside.   
[4] Oyaji no baka = Father, you fool .   



End file.
